


Oh, Pretty Baby, Now That I've Found You, Stay

by Roundworm



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Humor, Jealousy, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, but don't worry there's still, but they ARE idiots so, i hate when people dont just Talk, probably, that's a big one, the timeline may get a little confusing but i'm trying my best, well as slow as someone like me can make it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24815860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roundworm/pseuds/Roundworm
Summary: Emailing eventually moved to talking over the phone—Kilgour was pleased to hear what did not sound like an 80 year old man on the other end of the line. Bäumer spoke well in English though his accent was thick, and his voice was soft. Kilgour found himself really looking forward to meeting him.Which led him here.
Relationships: Soldat Baumer/Private Kilgour (1917)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You know I had to do it to ‘em

Kilgour’s parents were resolute in their decision for him to live off campus—apparently they were unwilling to pay for the room and board in addition to tuition, and his job was definitely not paying enough for him to do it himself.

He was nothing if not resourceful, though. Kilgour managed to bag a reasonably priced flat a bus ride or two away from campus, and his boss was willing to give him a transfer to a position much closer to university, now all he had to do was… oh boy. Reasonably priced certainly didn’t mean cheap.

He wasn’t sure he could survive taking a second job, so there was only one option left in his mind: put an ad up on Craigslist and pray that he didn’t attract a serial killer.

Kilgour figured he'd successfully weeded out the more overtly strange people when he got an email from _Fritzbaumer@gmail.com_.

 _“Hello,”_ the email read, _“my name is Friedrich Bäumer, I am 19. I am going to study at your school and I was looking for a home to live in. Right now I am living in a hostel, I came from Germany. I do not have a job in England yet, but I am looking for one and I was at a restaurant, I do not remember the word in English. I see your ad for a housemate, and I am interested. I think one housemate will be better than the five I am with right now. I will be happy to pay what I can and I can be very quiet so I will not bother you. Please email me back if you can.”_

If the email was to be believed at face value, which Kilgour was inclined to do, then it looked like he’d already struck paydirt. Same age, same school, and he was ready to help with rent? Needless to say, he did email Bäumer back.

Kilgour learned more about him in the week or two that they wrote to each other. He now knew that Friedrich originally lived in Kaarst, that he moved to England completely alone because nobody he knew was willing to move with him, and that he was prone to sleep talking (that last one wasn’t really related, he just thought it was cute).

Emailing eventually moved to talking over the phone—Kilgour was pleased to hear what did not sound like an 80 year old man on the other end of the line. Bäumer spoke well in English though his accent was thick, and his voice was soft. Kilgour found himself really looking forward to meeting him.

Which led him here.

Standing at the entranceway to his flat in boxers and one sock at half past noon, face-to-face with Friedrich Bäumer. The potential flatmate who he’d invited—and then _forgotten_ —just the other day to check out the place in person. Who was well-dressed and blond and perfect. Who was now staring at him like he had two heads, and pointedly not moving his gaze from Kilgour’s face.

The first thing that this potential flatmate had seen of the flat was him, who’d just woken up, in boxer shorts and one single sock.

“I,” Is all that came out of Kilgour’s mouth.

Bäumer hesitantly looked down at his phone, either checking to see if he’d gotten the right address or preparing to dial 999. “You are… Arthur Kil-ga…?” He asked slowly.

“Yes, I am, I can... explain....” Jesus, how was he supposed to go about this? _‘Hey sorry for flashing you, I just forgot that you existed’_? “Uh… could you wait just a second, I’ll— I’ll put clothes on really quickly.” Without waiting for a response, Kilgour rushed back into the flat and threw on whatever he got his hands on, just trying to get back to the door with everything covered before Bäumer could run too far.

By some miracle, Bäumer was still standing at the front door by the time he got back, and was curiously eyeing the inside of the flat from his spot outside.

“You can… come in…” Way more out of breath than he probably should’ve been, Kilgour invited Bäumer inside. The latter hesitated a moment longer before taking the invitation. Apparently his desperation to leave the hostel outweighed his concern about a potential creep for a flatmate.

Bäumer’s shoulders eventually dropped from their nervous tension the longer that he explored the small flat, even as Kilgour awkwardly shuffled along behind him and occasionally pointed out a few notable features (you can even turn around in the kitchen, how about that, eh? Please don’t leave).

“Oh yeah, uh, the second bedroom is just this way.” Kilgour finally took on the role of host as he led the other man back down the hall. “It’s right across from mine, that’s a bit of a downside, but the walls aren’t that thin.”

Bäumer nodded along politely, took a quick look inside what would theoretically be his room, and made a pleased humming noise.  
“It’s nice.” He said, rubbing his chin. “The, uh… rent you say, what is it again?”

“£714 a month.” Kilgour piped up, stepping back so he wasn’t hovering over Bäumer’s shoulder like an omen of death. “Well, altogether. But, y’know, if you moved in,” _Hopefully, please dear God_ , “We’d split it. 50/50.”

He nodded again, appearing to be deep in thought. Kilgour prayed that the only thought was ‘hey this is great I’m gonna move in immediately’ and not ‘didn’t this guy greet me in his fucking underwear?’.

Seconds before Kilgour was about to offer 80/20 as one last desperate plea, Bäumer spoke up again with a sort of finality in his voice.

“When can I move?” He smiled, turning to face Kilgour and clasping his hands behind his back. He startled a bit, embarrassingly, but he deemed himself validated because he hadn’t yet seen Bäumer in any expression that wasn’t wide-eyed curiousity or slight discomfort.

Kilgour cleared his throat, staving off the flush that was fighting to appear, and tried to shrug nonchalantly. “Um, there’s some paperwork and shit but… I mean, you can move in whenever you want to.”

Bäumer’s eyes brightened even more. “Good!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange phenomenon had been occurring recently, though, like how Bäumer emerged from his room at a quarter ‘til nine one morning looking perfect, just as the chorus of Hall & Oates’ “Maneater” hit from Kilgour’s phone. He couldn’t help but feel a little bit intimidated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dumb ass: two weeks (:

Upon moving in two weeks ago, Bäumer had slotted quite nicely into the empty spaces of the flat. It hadn’t taken too long to move him in because he hadn’t actually brought much more to the UK than a suitcase full of clothes, his wallet, phone, and a few sentimental items. Apparently he had it in his mind to completely start over at first, but in the end, he couldn’t let go of his old life entirely. 

Of course, no new friendship comes with absolutely no flaws—he seemed to have a nasty habit of forgetting to knock on Kilgour’s door if he needed help with something (that needed to be nipped in the bud before Kilgour _really_ traumatized the guy)—but overall, he counted himself lucky. 

A strange phenomenon had been occurring recently, though, like how Bäumer emerged from his room at a quarter ‘til nine one morning looking perfect, just as the chorus of Hall & Oates’ “Maneater” hit from Kilgour’s phone. He couldn’t help but feel a little bit intimidated. 

_‘_ _That was ominous...’_ Kilgour thought, tapping the side of his mug as Bäumer greeted him sleepily on his way into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. 

Only to leave it straight black. 

_‘That’s even more ominous. And disgusting.’_ “How can you drink that?” He asked, laughing a little. Bäumer cringed at his first sip, then shrugged. 

“I tricked myself into it.” He took another ginger sip. “It saves money.”

Well, that wasn’t quite the strange part, although the fact that his flatmate can somehow roll out of bed without a hair out of place while Kilgour felt and probably looked like he’d just rolled out of a dumpster _was_ pretty strange. The strange part was that some part of him was already reaching for his poor, malnourished wallet to buy Bäumer creamer for his sad black coffee, so he’d never have to cringe like that again. 

Objectively, Kilgour could recognize that Bäumer was an attractive person, but that had been the limit in his mind. Was that how celebrities worked? Was Bäumer just **so** attractive that people felt inclined to throw money at him? 

Huh. 

That incident turned out to be a dime a dozen as time went on, although Kilgour steered away from Hall & Oates in the mornings now (they were an evening listen anyway). Every morning from then on, Bäumer would wake up looking like he’d just sang for a flock of woodland creatures to come assist with his daily routine, and Kilgour would _notice_ it. Then, he’d cringe through a mug of black coffee, graciously accept Kilgour’s offer of toast, and they’d catch the bus together to get to campus. 

Kilgour reckoned he’d counted no less than twenty people who’d approached Bäumer on campus to ask for his number in some way or another in the weeks he’d moved in. He knew this because Bäumer was stuck to his side as often as was humanly—and academically—possible. That part was understandable enough, considering Kilgour was the only person he knew there, but what wasn’t understandable was the fact that he turned every single woman _and_ man who asked. 

He wanted to ask why, but a faint part of him deep down was rumbling with satisfaction. Kilgour settled on the explanation that Bäumer was incredibly picky and left it at that. The man had every right to be, after all. 

They’d begun to develop something of a routine after classes by the fourth week; when Kilgour got home from work, Bäumer set aside his job-hunting so they could eat together. Kilgour was usually exhausted, but on the occasions that he wasn’t, they’d take turns choosing which shitty Netflix horror film they would make fun of for the night. 

This particular night, Kilgour was practically dead on his feet the moment he walked into the flat. 

“Honey, I’m home.” He called out sarcastically, shutting the front door behind him with his foot after taking his shoes off. The faint shuffling from the kitchen slowly grew louder as the sound of footsteps fast approached him. 

Bäumer burst into the sitting room to meet him, excitedly bouncing on his heels. “Guess what?”  
Caught completely off guard, Kilgour barely managed to stammer out a weak “huh?” before Bäumer was talking again. 

“I got an interview!” He pointed back towards the kitchen where his laptop was set up. “Come look!”

Despite his brain begging for sleep, Kilgour dutifully followed his flatmate back to the kitchen to check out the email Bäumer had received. He was too tired to fully register what that meant, but he _could_ register Bäumer’s excitement so he smiled and pulled him into a brief side-hug.

“Good on ya, Fritz,” Kilgour stifled a yawn into his other fist. “We should celebrate… tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow...” Bäumer agreed, rubbing his hands together uncertainly before peering slightly up at him. He looked like he wanted to say something, but stalled just before it came out. 

“Uh… goodnight, Arthur.” Is what he seemed to settle on instead. 

The abrupt end to their conversation threw Kilgour for a bit of a loop as Bäumer slipped around him and made his way to his side of the hallway. It kind of snapped him out of his exhaustion for a moment or two, wondering what happened. Had he said something wrong? 

It—it didn’t matter, he’d forget all about it in the morning. Hopefully. Kilgour suddenly remembered how tired he was and dragged himself to his own bedroom, confusedly scratching his head on the way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: training oneself to like black coffee to save money on sweetener is actually a thing my dad has canonically done

**Author's Note:**

> I am determined to finish this, will update every two weeks at the very VERY maximum. Hold Me To This. The moment it goes over two weeks, hound the fuck out of me


End file.
